


Fulfill My Needs

by Arsenic



Category: Batman: Gotham by Gaslight (2018)
Genre: Child Abuse, Forced Prostitution, Gen, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-08-10 01:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20127259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: The backstory on the triumvirate of Dickie, Jason, and Timmy in Gotham by Gaslight.





	Fulfill My Needs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mikimoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikimoo/gifts).

> Recip: thank you for this delicious bowl of cherries of a prompt. I loved it so much. I made cooing noises at it. I sound facetious, but I am not. This was so much fun and I can't say how much I appreciate it.
> 
> Mods: thanks for a very smoothly run, fun as hell challenge, this really has been one of the bright points of my life atm.
> 
> Thanks to my beta for helping to smooth out one of the bigger issues in this fic and generally just make it a better piece overall.

Dickie was just looking for someone who’d share their fire the night he found Jason. The cold of late November was making it hard to feel his fingers. He’d said, “I en’t looking for food,” to the first person and “I just wants to warm me toes,” to the second. By the third, he’d opened his mouth but then scuttled when the man had raised his hand as if to cuff Dickie.

He ran into the nearest of the alleys, tripping over something and falling to his hands and knees in the dark. Dickie hissed in pain. Even a few months earlier he’d still had some padding, some of the muscle the years training on trapeze had built in him. But after he’d survived the cholera that took his parents and a good third the company, most of his weight had been gone.

What had remained had melted away in the months since, Haley having given him a couple of dollars and an apologetic, “You’re too young to be an act, and I can’t be feeding every orphan who comes my way.”

Dickie’d made the two dollars stretch for as many weeks. Then he’d taken to begging. It didn’t bring in much, not in a city like Gotham, where kids who were even younger than Dickie could be found on most corners.

So now, when he fell to the dirty cobblestones, there was nothing to protect his bones. He grunted and scrambled back to his feet, turning to kick whatever had gotten in his path. The debris moaned. Dickie startled. “Oh.”

The Debris whispered, “No—no.”

Dickie leaned over, trying to see in the dark of the alley. The Debris was a boy. A very dirty, very hurt boy.

At the careful touch of Dickie’s fingers to his cheek, The Debris whimpered and repeated his ragged denials. Dickie bit his lip. “Ye’re in a rough way.”

Dickie had only been one of Gotham’s Unfortunates for about three months. That was long enough to hear the rumors that if you were too poor for a hospital and really needed help, the abbey was where to go. He’d made sure to know where it was, just in case. It stood a good mile or so away from where they were, on the edges of the worst parts of town.

Debris wasn’t going to be much help, that was for certain. Dickie couldn’t leave him there, though. Not—well, he knew a little too much about being left to die. He got his hands underneath Debris as best he could and hauled both of them to their feet, almost falling over from Debris’ nearly-dead weight. Thankfully, Debris hadn’t had a proper meal in sometime, either.

He said, “All right. All right.”

* * *

Dickie had no idea how long it took him to reach the abbey. He’d stumbled into walls at least four times, and when he’d reached the gates, had barely managed to impart, “Help,” to the nun who’d come to see what the fuss was about before passing out on the street in front of said gates.

He woke up warm, and for a moment, a brief, sweet moment, he was back in the circus car, his parents still alive, a performance waiting for them that evening. Then the ache in every part of his body made itself known, the emptiness in his stomach. And he remembered.

Dickie forced his eyes open and found himself in a bed. There were three other beds in the room, which appeared to be something of an infirmary. In the bed next to him was the other kid. He seemed to still be alive. Dickie let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It wasn’t as though he knew the kid.

Cautiously, he sat up. The room swam around him, everything feeling a bit removed. He startled quite a bit when a voice said, “I see you’ve joined us.”

A sister was standing at the door. She smiled. “Sorry, I thought you heard me open the door. I’m Sister Leslie. Your friend’s in a rough way.”

“I’m Dickie. He, ah—I don’t actually know him.”

She tilted her head and then smiled. “Hello Dickie. His name is Jason. You saved his life, so I imagine you will, when he wakes up. He could use a friend, and unless I miss my guess, you could, too.”

A friend sounded wonderful, in truth. But if Dickie didn’t get back out there and find some food, loneliness was going to be the least of his problems. “Oh. Um. Thanks, miss, I mean, ma’am, I mean—well, thank you, but I’ll need to be—”

“Having a bit of breakfast, I imagine,” she said. “Come along, let’s get you a bowl of oatmeal. Maybe some tea?”

Dickie knew his mouth was hanging open, it was only that it had been so long since anyone had been kind. Even without the offer of food, just being seen as a boy, flesh and blood, was something he’d almost forgotten the feel of. “I don’t have no money, miss.”

Her eyes were sad. “You saved someone’s life, Dickie. Don’t you imagine that’s worth a hot meal?”

Once, Dickie had thought being willing and able to work was worth that. But nobody in Gotham needed boys to work, not in any honest way. He wasn’t sure about much anymore. He shrugged.

She said, “I say it’s worth at least that.”

Dickie stood and followed her from the room.

* * *

Jason came awake in the middle of the night with a cry. Dickie, who had been given lunch and dinner as well, and had spent all day in the warm, clean walls of the abbey, sprang out of his bed and said, “Ye’re all right. It’s safe ‘ere.”

Only one of Jason’s eyes could open far enough for him to see out of, and probably not that well. Both hands were bandaged, one strapped to his chest to protect both broken ribs and the shoulder that had been dislocated. The other one, though, he held up in what Dickie imagined would have been a fist, but for the bandages. Jason coughed, barely managing, “Who ‘re ye? Where’s ‘ere?”

“I’m Dickie. I found ye in the alley. We’re at the abbey.”

Jason didn’t relax at these words, instead the one eye he had to work with catalogued the room. It was dark, but the particular shape of the abbey windows was clear, as was the obvious nature of the room as an infirmary. After several minutes, Jason lowered his hand and took another breath which caused him to cough again, mewling at the movement of his ribs.

Dickie winced in sympathy. He’d had broken ribs, both from a mistake on the trapeze, and a bigger kid on the streets who’d wanted food Dickie’d dug out of the trash. “I might’n be able to find the kitchens, if ye’d like some milk or…summat.”

Jason blinked. Softly, he asked, “Why’d ye help me?”

Dickie looked away. “Ye were hurt real bad.”

Jason’s, “That en’t no answer,” was just a little sharp.

Dickie opened his mouth and then closed it. Finally, he settled on, “Ye were alone.”

Jason frowned, but he didn’t push for another answer. He asked, “There water ‘ere?”

Dickie remembered the glass Sister Leslie had left on the tray on the other side of Jason’s bed. He hopped off his own and went around, doing his best to help Jason drink without moving the other boy too much. Much of it still ended up on the nightshirt the nuns had dressed Jason in. Even so, it seemed to settle Jason enough for him to drop back into sleep.

Dickie curled up in his bed again and listened to the uneven wheeze of Jason’s breathing. It was more comforting than it had any right to be.

* * *

Dickie woke up later without being sure why. In the dark, it took him a few minutes to realize Jason was what had woken him. Jason having fallen on the floor, seemingly on the way to the door, that is.

Dickie rolled off his bed and knelt down beside Jason. “Ye shouldn’t be up. I ken fetch ye what’s it is ye needs.”

Jason pushed himself up on shaking arms, his breath whistling sharply through clenched teeth. “Needs to be going. Big Bill’ll make this look like a day in the park iffin I’m not back by morning. Mebbe even so.”

Dickie knew of Big Bill Dust. He might’ve been relatively new to the streets, but he paid attention, listened when nobody noticed he was there, which was basically always. Unfortunately, in this instance, it meant he knew Jason was right. Dickie considered the options left to them, and after a moment asked, “Which side ‘urts less?”

Jason managed to look suspicious with only one eye open. Dickie sighed, took a guess, and placed himself on the left side to support Jason. Jason tried to pull away, but gave up with a bitten off whimper, instead telling Dickie, “Ye cain’t come with. Bill’ll—well, ye cain’t.”

Dickie knew what Dust would do. Exactly what Dickie had been trying to avoid all these months: draft him into his stable of thieves and boys who earned their keep on their knees and backs. But Jason was a warm weight against his side, even trembling from the pain. A warm weight who was doing his best to protect Dickie, despite his own predicament. Dickie said, “I can. I will. Ye’re not allowed to make me choices for me.”

“Are ye always this stupid?” Jason asked, but he also took a step and let Dickie support him.

Dickie laughed. “Nah, this is special fer ye.”

* * *

It took them well past the break of day to get back into the area of Gotham controlled by Big Bill. One of his enforcers spotted them—well, Jason—almost immediately, and the two of them were dragged to Bill’s “place of business.” Bill looked them over and said, “Ye brung me an apology gift, ‘ave ye, boy?”

Jason swallowed. He was shaking from pain and exhaustion, and Dickie wanted to go make sure he could stay on his feet, but one of Bill’s help had a hand fisted in Dickie’s hair, keeping him still. He wasn’t going anywhere, he was certain, until Bill said so.

Jason said, “Sir,” and didn’t elaborate.

“Because if ‘e weren’ an apology, I’d ‘ave to take yer missed earning’s outta yer hide, ye’d know that, right?”

Dickie watched every muscle in Jason’s body tighten on itself, as though spoiling for a fight. Dickie was about to agree that he was totally an apology gift when Jason choked out, “Sir.”

Bill laughed: an ugly, mean sound. “That’s right. Ye’d better teach ‘im all he needs to know an’ soon. If ‘e’s not earning ‘is keep by the end of the week, both of ye’s’ll share that beatin’.”

Jason nodded, even as Bill waved a hand. “Git.”

Once they were free of the building, and Dickie’d been tossed to his knees by the man holding his hair, Dickie stood, brushed the tattered rags of his pants and said, “I knows how to pick pockets. Circus folk know lots o’ things.”

Jason’s expression was hard to read, especially with only one eye able to open. After a moment he sighed and said, “Sure, carnie kid.”

Dickie kept any further protestations of usefulness to himself. Jason would see.

* * *

It wasn’t just pickpocketing Jason did for Bill. Jason hid it well for months, sending Dickie out to the areas where there would be better crowds, wealthier pockets to get his fingers in, saying, “I knows the good spots in the Narrows.”

Dickie should have figured it out sooner, but he hadn’t really wanted to. Hadn’t wanted to consider that maybe Jason hadn’t been beaten for getting caught stealing the night Dickie’d found him. 

He returned early one day, though, having managed a whole dollar off a super fancy looking lady who was touring outside the developing fairgrounds, and caught Jason on his knees, a bloke’s hand twisted in his hair. Dickie crept away, well aware that if Jason hadn’t told him, it was because he didn’t want Dickie knowing. 

He managed to pretend a lack of knowledge for another few weeks, until the morning Jason woke up already looking green. Dickie asked, “’ow much do y’get? More, yeh, than pockets?”

Jason rubbed at his arms, clearly feverish and said, “Shut yer mouth.”

Dickie sized him up. “’ow ‘ard can it be?”

“Dickie—” he cut off, running to the side of the building they were standing next to in order to throw up what little he’d managed for breakfast. When he came back, he said, “Nothin’ wrong with me arse.”

Dickie nodded. “I takes the ones what wants mouths, then?”

“You—there’re tricks, ways to—” Jason cut off, panting, his eyes slipping shut.

Dickie said, “I’ll manage. Quick study, I am.”

Jason opened his eyes just enough to look absolutely miserable at this assessment. “Jus’ today.”

* * *

More than painful, having a man twice his size shove his cock down Dickie’s throat was scary. But Jason did it every day, and Dickie was his friend, his best and truest friend, and he could be scared so Jason didn’t have to do everything by himself, cold and tired and sick.

It took nearly a week for Jason to fully recover, and by the end of it, he was so gaunt Dick was worried a strong wind might topple him. He said, “Righ’ then, back to the park ye go.”

Dickie said, “I gots experience, now. An’ this way, we can watch each other’s backs.”

“Dickie—”

“I’m not leavin’,” Dickie told him, quiet and serious. He couldn’t, not after a week of knowing exactly what Jason did, the risks he had to take. Two kids against a paying customer wasn’t much, but it was better than one kid. And just standing around all day to make sure Jason stayed as safe as possible wasn’t an option.  
“Ye’re a royal pain in me backside,” Jason muttered, but he bumped gently into Dickie as he walked by him. Dickie smiled and took the victory.

* * *

It became clear with time that Jason was a softy for lost causes. He acted like nothing and nobody mattered to him, nor ever could, but all the kids knew if they got roughed up pick-pocketing or turning a trick, Jason would make sure to find a way to heat some water, figure out how to cleanly bandage wounds that needed it, scrounge something extra for that kid to eat. It didn’t take Dickie long to figure out Jason did the same for wounded animals in the alleys when he noticed them, some of the elderly beggars who were endangered by the winter cold, pretty much anyone and anything he perceived as being worse off than himself.

Dickie suspected it was how he’d gotten under Jason’s skin. It was definitely how they ended up adopting Timmy a year and a half or so into their makeshift partnership. 

Bill found Timmy rummaging in a garbage bin, and pretty much just stole him. Granted, Timmy hadn’t really belonged to anyone by that point, but he was small and clever and had been handling his situation. Timmy had tried to argue that he was just another mouth to feed, and Bill had “argued” back with his fists, so by the time he threw Timmy in with the rest of the orphans, Timmy was more bruise than boy.

Jason had walked over to him slowly, and Timmy had flinched away, trying to get to a corner, somewhere defensible. Jason had stopped, held his hands up, said, “Jus’ tryin’ to see how bad it is. Maybe clean y’up a bit. ‘S’all.”

Dickie sidled up to Jason. The two of them shared a glance. Both of Timmy’s eyes had been swollen near to shut, and his arms were wrapped around his torso, probably to protect his ribs.

Timmy had canted his head, clearly trying to assess them. Jason had crouched down, made himself even less threatening than he was as a gangly mass of underfed boy, and Timmy had nodded, uncurling slightly.

And because Timmy was so terribly smart, once he’d figured Jason out—probably a few hours later—he’d made sure Dickie and Jason would find him useful. The two of them were adamant that Tim be on pickpocketing. Jason would get mean about it from time to time, but Timmy was smart enough to recognize fear in others.

Over the next month or two they learned Timmy was good at card tricks, minor cons, and other things that brought in easy money, sometimes enough to allow Jason and Dickie to cut back on the number of johns they each had to take. Timmy was also good at finding supplies to make sure the momma cat Jason was trying to get safely to the end of her pregnancy was kept fed and warm, or the dog with the missing ear who shied away from everyone but Jason had a place to sleep and ate something at least once a day. He was good at remembering little things about the other boys Bill kept, their birthdays, what kind of treats they liked, who was good at what games, things that could be used for and against a person, but Timmy only handed the information over to Jason and Dickie, the way he did with whatever he made in a day.

Even if everyone quietly knew, Timmy didn’t tell anyone about how squishy Jason was on the inside, and that, more than anything, was why Dickie loved him.

* * *

Everybody in Gotham knew about Batman. Street kids didn’t much worry about him, though, because if there was one thing street kid gossip was accurate about, it was threats, and Batman wasn’t one. It was just dumb fucking luck that he caught the three of them being punished by Bill for a week when one of Timmy’s cons hadn’t played out, and one of Jason’s regulars disappeared.

They didn’t usually threaten people, that wasn’t their style. And even if the toffs Bill had set them on this evening could clearly afford whatever they had on them, it made Dickie sick to his stomach.

Not as sick, though, as he felt in the moments after Batman had saved the couple, when he knew how angry Bill was going to be. And then, somehow, Bill wasn’t a threat. Oh, Dickie saw Batman beat him, clocked the series of events that lead to Bill somehow not owning them anymore, but it was a bit like watching a fire-eater: you believed your eyes, you just didn’t precisely know how to interpret what they were seeing.

Not certain what to do, the three of them headed back to the lodgings by silent agreement. The other kids needed to be told, at the very least. Timmy was the one to say aloud, “We can’t stay. Some’un’ll take the territory.”

Dickie nodded. Jason crossed his arms over his chest. “But if we wasn’t payin’ Bill’s fees, we could maybe make enough fer food jus’ with pickin’ pockets. There’s shelter t’be foun’.”

Dickie thought of those first months on the streets. Bill’s dorm weren’t much better, but they had walls and a roof, and each boy had his own blanket. Bought at a steep price, though. And Jason already looked resigned, like Dickie was going to shoot down the possibility they might be free.

That Jason and Dickie could stop letting men hurt them for a place on a floor and some bread and water.

Dickie smiled. “Worth a try, en’t it?”

* * *

Two days later, just as dawn was breaking, a wagon driven by an older gentleman dressed in clothing that Dickie would guess could keep a family of three fed decently for months, if not longer, rolled to a stop at the corner where Dickie, Jason, and Timmy were coming up with a plan for the day. They’d been picking pockets pretty steadily since running. It was enough to keep them fed to their standards, which for the moment, would do.

Dickie’s first thought was, _If I could get in the wagon, I bet e’s got some nice trinkets on ‘im._

Instead, the man climbed down and asked, “Would the three of you be the young men Batman came across two evenings ago? You were in the employ of a man named Bill, I believe?”

Jason shouldered his way in front of Dickie and Timmy. “Whut’s it t’ye?”

“Batman mentioned the incident to my employer, who is also an orphan. We agreed that the three of you might be open to an honest wage in the household I run.”

“’onest wage,” Jason said, with all the cynicism he could possibly convey in two words. It was more than enough to get his point across.

“Yes,” the man said, but something in his tone softened. “You perform duties such as helping to keep the rooms in the manor clean, assisting with the grounds, and in exchange, you are given room, board, and a small stipend.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed, but it was Timmy who piped up from behind him to ask, “Why?”

There was a long pause. Dickie was pretty certain the man was trying to figure out what would get them to listen. Eventually he said, “Because Batman has kept an eye out and believes this will get you to stop stealing.”

The three of them shared a glance. If Batman was keeping an eye out, it was going to be hard to keep stealing. Sooner or later, he would most likely extend himself to put a stop to it. The only way to avoid that was to stay off his radar, and well, too late. Clearly, since this man had known where to find them, and it wasn’t as if they were advertising their whereabouts. 

Dickie leaned over and whispered to Jason, “Migh’ as well try. We can come up with a plan on the way there.”

Jason glanced once more at Timmy, who just hooked his arms over his chest and didn’t give any indication of what he was thinking. It was his way of saying he’d go where they went. Which wasn’t exactly news.

Jason stuck a filthy hand out and the man shook it without hesitation. “Excellent. Alfred Pennyworth at your service. I work for Bruce Wayne, as you do now.”

Dickie blinked. Everyone knew who Bruce Wayne was, the same way everyone knew who Batman was. Jason faltered ever so slightly. Bruce Wayne could do _anything._

Instead of backing out, though, he shook Pennyworth’s hand and said, “Jason. An’ this is Dickie an’ Timmy.”

Pennyworth nodded at both of them. “Into the wagon, young sirs. We have a few errands to run, and then we shall return to the manor and get you acquainted with your new duties and home.”

Once in the back of the wagon, Pennyworth once again driving the team, Jason told Timmy, “Iffin anyone tries to touch ye, ye run.”

Timmy looked mutinous, so Dickie added, “Meet us at the minor footbridge, north end.”

Jason nodded. Timmy said, “I’m almos’ as old as ye.”

“Ye run, Timmy,” Dickie said. Jason and him had disagreements from time to time, but on this, they were perfectly aligned.

Facing the dictates of both of them, Timmy had pouted, but said, “Fine.”

* * *

“It’s freezin’,” Jason said, his feet squared, clearly ready to run. “We en’t takin’ no baths.” Then, uncertain in the face of Pennyworth’s continued kindness, “Sir.”

“Alfred, if you don’t mind, and a bath will warm you right up, which is why it must be seen to before supper.”

“A warm bath?” Timmy murmured. Like Dickie, Timmy had had a home and a family before the streets, and could remember elements of both.

Jason frowned. “’ow d’ye make a bath warm in the winter?”

“With a fire,” Timmy said. “This place ‘as dozens o’ fireplaces.”

“Master Timothy is quite correct,” Alfred said.

Tim blinked. “I en’t no master.”

“You are not, perhaps,” Alfred replied. “If you prefer, it can be just Timothy, but the bath is non-negotiable, I’m afraid.”

It had been a long time since Dickie had taken a warm bath. In the summers, bathing was easiest in creeks, and even in the winter, when the cook tent would heat the water for the performers, it was still a fairly quick dunk in a barrel, several people having gone before Dickie and the water cooling. The idea was…seductive.

Jason was still looking uncertain. “None of us is takin’ our clothes off in front o’ someone we jus’ met.”

It didn’t have the same conviction Dickie was used to from Jason, like maybe, with Timmy and Dickie seeming so interested, Jason _would_ do something they’d all sworn not to just days before.

“Of course not,” Alfred said, seeming mildly horrified by the thought. “I shall have the baths drawn and leave you to complete them on your own. Clean clothing will be set out on the beds for you. I’m sure some of the families who work on premises can spare something from their children to help for now.”

Dickie stepped a little closer to Jason, needing the grounding sensation of having him near. “What’re we t’do t’pay for the bath an’ the clothes?”

“What the other children who are on part-time staff here do to help their families earn a living. Attend schooling during the day, and help with cleaning, laundering, and other household duties for a couple of hours each evening, and four hours on Saturdays.”

“What’ve we gots to do fer food?” Jason asked.

“There will be nothing else expected of you. You shall be provided with clean, functional clothing, a bed apiece, shelter, bathing facilities, food, schooling, and a small salary to be paid at the end of each month.”

“That’s a lot fer not much work,” Timmy said. Timmy was good with numbers and what things were worth. Dickie’d suspected as much, but it was hard to know.

“Children shouldn’t have to work for any of those things, Timothy. But as I doubt any of you will take them for free, those are my terms.”

Jason looked over at Dickie. Dickie had hoped Jason would decide for them. Instead, he shrugged ever so slightly. They could probably run if it was a lie. Probably. And if it wasn’t… After a moment, he nodded, once.

Jason said, “All righ’, we accepts yer proposal.”

“Quite right,” Alfred said.

Timmy said, “No—I mean—that is. Er. We accepts, but we wants our beds to be together. Not apart from each other.”

It was a good precaution, smart. It hadn’t even occurred to Dickie that they might not be, although, going over Alfred’s language in his head, he saw where Timmy was concerned.

Alfred smiled, and it was kind, achingly so. “I believe we can manage that.”

* * *

The bath was luxurious, and Dickie couldn’t help but take his time. He knew it might not be wise—more time naked in a strange place was more opportunity to be hurt—but he also thought he’d be willing to be hurt for a few more minutes in the heat of the water, his body unwinding. When he exited, swaddled in towels too soft to be real, Jason was sitting on the bed in the connected room, his clean clothes a bit too big on him, the size of the bed dwarfing him, and his body language and bare feet making him seem the smallest he’d ever looked to Dickie, even that night a couple years earlier, on the ground and broken.

Dickie hopped up beside him on the bed and asked, “Jay?”

“I sent Timmy to the kitchens. Fer food. I—Should I’ve gone wi’ ‘im?” Jason glanced at Dickie, eyes full of stark, naked fear.

Dickie frowned and pulled Jason into as much of a hug as could be managed, given that Jason was tucked in on himself, knees drawn tightly to his chest, arms holding them hostage. “’e knows where we are. ‘e’ll be all righ’. What—”

Jason shifted, burying his fingers in the flesh of Dickie’s arms. It hurt, but Dickie knew that wasn’t the intention, it felt like Jason was using him to keep from drowning, and Dickie was committed to not allowing Jason to drown. Hesitantly, Jason said, “Out there, I—I’m useful, there. On the streets. I knows the tricks and…that’s what I am. A street kid. I cain’t even write me name, Dickie. I cain’t—I ain’t got no way to protect Timmy and ye ‘ere. As soon as Alfred figures out I’m useless in a ‘ouse—”

“No.” Dickie actually was trying to come up with something better than that, but he needed Jason to stop, and that was what made it past his lips. “Even if ‘e does, ‘e better expect me to go wi’ ye. But ‘e ain’t gonna do anything, ‘cause yer smart and ye’ll learn yer readin’ and writin’ and be more useful than Timmy an’ me put together.”

Jason’s breathing was ragged. He managed a weak, “Nobody’s more useful ‘n Timmy.”

Dickie laughed. “Timmy ain’t the one ‘oo kept me alive all these years.”

“I didn’t, ye—”

Dickie pulled back just far enough that he could look at Jason without forcing Jason to let go. “Jay.”

“Timmy ain’t the reason I survived that nigh’ we met.”

Dickie nodded. “Mebbe this is safe. Mebbe it ain’t. We gots each other. An’ Timmy. Worse ‘appens, we run. We’ve ‘ad nowhere t’go before.”

Dickie could feel the faint tremors still running through Jason, but Jason nodded. “We should eat.”

Dickie let him hold on another few minutes, all the same.

* * *

Dickie had forgotten how good food could taste. It was fairly obvious Jason had never known to begin with. He was working to act unimpressed, and while someone who didn’t know him might be fooled—Jason was an expert at pretending aloofness—Dickie wasn’t. There was a soup with a beef broth that had potatoes and a variety of vegetables; it was hot and salty and full of flavor. Most of all, it was fresh.

There were apple slices with creamy cheese to spread on them, hearty rolls that could be dipped in the soup or covered in butter or jam, and tea that was neither weak nor cold, and offered with cream, sugar, lemons, and honey.

Alfred cautioned them to eat slowly, but he didn’t take any of the food away, not even when it was clear they were done. Instead, he had them help put the food into the storage places, stating, “Now you will know where the leftovers are, and where we keep the dry goods. If you are hungry, please come find something to eat. Just be cautious not to make yourself sick.”

Dickie noticed Jason pocketing some dried goods even so. It might get them kicked out, but Dickie wouldn’t fault him for it. Dickie was tempted himself.

Alfred took them on a tour of the house, which was bigger than anything Dickie had ever known. He’d get lost for sure if he tried finding anything on his own. He made special note of where the school rooms were in relation to the room Alfred brought them to at the end. The room was easily the size of that which they’d shared with the dozen and a half other orphans Bill had owned. It housed two beds, both big enough to fit all three of them with room to spare. There was a lovely wooden nightstand between the beds, an oil lamp atop it. A window that went almost to the ceiling let in streams of light, showing off the cream and gold accents of the room. 

Alfred showed them to the nearest bathroom, two doors down, and said, “Take the rest of the day to rest, young fellows. Breakfast will be served tomorrow morning, and then we shall get started on your studies and your duties. If you need anything from me, find one of the household, they will help you to locate me. Very well?”

They nodded, Timmy saying, “Thank ye, Alfred,” and Dickie and Jason mumbling the same in his wake.

Alfred said, “Rest well, boys. Everything will turn out, you’ll see.”

* * *

Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s richest man and Alfred’s employer, whose house the three of them had been living in for three days, was Batman. Also, they had helped save Batman’s life. And Alfred said they were Mr. Wayne’s wards now, legally.

This was a lot of information for Dickie to sort through, that last having been imparted to him, Jason, Timmy, and evidently Mr. Wayne, in the past few hours. Those hours had also included finding out the head of Gotham city police was the killer that had everyone on their tip toes around town, and watching the fair grounds burn down.

He, Jason, Timmy, Mr. Wayne, Alfred, and Selina Kyle had all returned to Wayne Manor, bathed the soot off themselves, and convened in the kitchens, where Alfred made a cottage pie. Jason helped set the dining room table, while Timmy and Dick helped serve. Timmy, Dickie, and Jason pulled their chairs as close together as they could without it seeming too suspicious.

Halfway through his portion, when his nerves were starting to get in the way of his hunger, Dickie asked, “What’s a ward?”

The three adults all blinked. But Dickie could feel the way Jason and Timmy were paying attention, and knew he wasn’t the only one who had been wondering. After a silence that was beginning to border on awkward, Alfred said, “It means nobody can take you away from Master Bruce, young sirs.”

Jason knocked his foot into Dickie’s. “So. Ye own us now?”

The question was addressed to Mr. Wayne, and there was maybe a bit of a challenge to it. Dickie couldn’t blame Jason. If Bruce Wayne wanted to murder all three of them slowly, it was doubtful anyone would even think to look for them. Ever.

“No,” Mr. Wayne said. His voice was weirdly soft for someone who scared all of Gotham in both his guises. “It means we have the chance to be a family.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dickie noticed Alfred smiling down at his plate. Jason mostly seemed confused by the answer. Miss Kyle leaned over and kissed Mr. Wayne on the cheek, which made him blush. Timmy laughed, and then covered his mouth with his hand, eyes wide. After a second, Mr. Wayne began laughing too, and after that, it was just a matter of time before all of them took the chance to release some of the fear of the past and enjoy the moment.


End file.
